Page 3 of Curvy Girl and the Protector Cowboy

"I can bring some food too," I say, careful to direct the offer to the boy rather than to her. "We've always got peanut butter and jelly. Or cookies."

The kid's eyes widen at "cookies," and Luisa's expression softens slightly for the first time.

"That's very kind, but—"

"No strings attached," I interrupt gently. "You can stay right here. I'll be back in five minutes."

Before she can protest further, I start toward the house, forcing myself to walk normally despite the dull throb in my ankle. I can feel her eyes on my back the whole way.

As I reach the porch steps, I glance back. Luisa has moved to the shade of a large oak tree, where she's set the boy down but keeps a firm grip on his hand. Even from this distance, I can see the exhaustion in the slump of her shoulders.

I push open the screen door, greeted by the familiar chaos of dinnertime at the Covington Ranch. Jackson and Sarah are at the stove, arguing good-naturedly about how much garlic belongs in spaghetti sauce. Vincent is setting the table while Lucy chatters away about something she learned at kindergarten. Charlotte catches my eye and smiles, nodding toward the scene as if to say, "Aren't they adorable?"

No sign of Aaron, Elena, or Ethan yet.

I grab a clean dish towel and lay it on the counter, then start gathering supplies: a water bottle, apple juice box, two PB&J sandwiches cut into triangles, and a handful of chocolate chip cookies from the jar.

"What are you doing?" Vincent asks, pausing his table-setting. "Picnic for one?"

"Something like that," I answer vaguely, wrapping the sandwiches.

Jackson turns from the stove, eyebrow raised. "You expecting company out by the east pasture? Saw you talking to someone from the kitchen window."

I consider lying, but there's no point. They'd find out anyway. "Just helping out a lost traveler and her kid," I say casually. "They need water and a quick snack before moving on."

Sarah exchanges a look with Jackson that I can't quite interpret. "Her kid?" she repeats.

"Yeah," I say, shoving everything into a small cooler bag. "Little boy, maybe three or four."

"And are you sure they’re lost?" Jackson asks, his tone skeptical.

I shrug, avoiding his gaze. "Didn't ask for details."

"Cole," Sarah starts, her therapist voice kicking in. "If someone's in trouble—"

"I know," I cut her off. "But right now, they're just hungry and scared. Let me handle it."

To my surprise, Jackson nods. "Alright. But you bring them in if they need real help. It's getting dark."

I grab the cooler bag and head back out before anyone can ask more questions. As I step onto the porch, I spot Luisa still under the tree, her posture rigid, watching the house like a hawk.

For a second, I wonder if I'm making a mistake getting involved. Then the little boy waves at me, and something in my chest tightens.

Whatever storm this woman is running from, it followed her right to our doorstep. And Covington men don't turn away people in need—not even runaway brides with secrets in their eyes.

Chapter 2

I clutch Miguel's hand tighter as I watch the cowboy approach with a small cooler bag. My throat is parched, my feet raw from miles of walking, but my instincts remain sharper than my pain.

Trust no one. Keep moving. Protect Miguel at all costs.

"Mama, is that food?" Miguel whispers, his eyes fixed on the approaching man.

"Yes, my son." I force a reassuring smile. "But remember what we talked about? We'll eat quickly, then go."

Miguel nods solemnly, too serious for his four years. My heart aches seeing him like this—scared, confused, his little suit dirty and rumpled. Today was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be throwing flower petals down an aisle, not running through woods after his mother abandoned her own wedding.

The cowboy—Cole—reaches us, limping slightly though he's trying to hide it. He moves carefully, like someone approaching a skittish animal.

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